A Branch on the Steps

The apartment held too many repeated surfaces, so I walked out through the heavy building door into the morning air. Resting across the third concrete step was a dry, fallen birch twig with two brittle dried leaves still attached. I lifted one end and set it balanced across the sharp edge of the stone tread. When I pressed down on the free tip with both hands, the wood resisted with a taut flex before snapping with a dry, instantaneous crack. The concrete swallowed the echo immediately, leaving only the crisp mechanical fracture. A clean, singular tone that leaves nothing lingering.